


Language of Swords

by HaveMyWeedCookies



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, M/M, Romance, Zoro's swords playing wingmen, minor Wano Arc spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-19 05:36:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20652056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveMyWeedCookies/pseuds/HaveMyWeedCookies
Summary: It took them for a while but finally, Zoro asked if Sanji wanted to hold his sword.





	Language of Swords

**Author's Note:**

> The story doesn't touch major or recent spoilers, I think, but I tagged it just in case; it's very very loosely canon-based.

Everyone on the Sunny was asleep, save for two restless men. They arrived on time on the deck which would soon be turned into a battle ring for their secret sparring session.

It was different than the one that happened during the day. It was nothing like those lighthearted bouts that they took turns yelling and threatening to kill each other, just goofing around, playing their routine roles in the ship's dynamics. 

It wasn't like they pretended to be someone they weren't. They were as childish as their younger nakamas; they liked to play, too. But they were fighters through and through, and this violent side of their nature was unavoidable to be suppressed while their crewmates were around.

It was during the battlefields that the beasts were allowed to be out, feast and go back to their slumbers. 

They didn't have any good battles lately.

When things started getting painfully idle, they agreed to meet at night, to fix it.

The ship cook shrugged off his vest along with the tie, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and with an unlit cigarette between his teeth. He had a lazy smirk on his lips, still trying to not look too enthusiastic but his body language gave out entirely different vibes. Under the pale moonlight, his smug look was less refined, rawer and eager. That chivalrous code of his that had bound him in daylight was clearly gone now. Tonight, they had a quite captivating midnight sky, with the moon in her full glory, no clouds to hide away her beauty, and he had yet wax poetic about it. There was no woman around for him to impress. He didn't try to be verbose as he knew master cared not about trite civility. 

Master put on his bandana and had them all out at once; it was his way of showing respect towards worthy opponents. They were different in every possible way, from their personal philosophies to their fighting styles, but at least one thing that they shared with each other was the reluctance to play defensive. Both kicked off their feet and sprinted to the other with uncannily similar grins. When Shusui clashed with the iron-clad heel of the cook's black dress shoe, it signaled the beginning of the first round of the match that would continue until sunrise.

Nothing could stop this fight even raging storms; they fought during ones before.

They were always on the same page when speech was not needed.

They fought like their bodies were made from anything but flesh and blood, rarely paused between the fights. The intermedial breaks were always cut short. After the 13th round that left them breathlessly panting on the deck's cold wooden floor, and even the lightest feather would feel like a ton of rocks on their weary bodies, they changed their tactics.

They both should stop but the relentless desire to fight always won out. 

Master placed them against the wall near the galley’s door before clenching both of his hands into fists, a sincere but maniacal smile lit up his face. An admittance of his physical exhaustion. The fights had worn him out, he was unable to think straight and be true to his fighting styles anymore. At this point, he knew trying to wield the blades would be a disrespect to the weapons so he resorted to going back to his most humble form to finish the fight.

Upon seeing it, the cook kicked off his dress shoes, planting his scarred and bloody feet firmly on the ground, barefoot. Logic, too, had left him. The ship cook didn't really need shoes to execute his techniques, even for its slightest protection. It was just his unnecessarily artistic preference. Their master often scolded him for having his mind on unimportant things. But, standing in front of master right now was Blackleg, in his most glorious form, without his self-control and his obsession with the perfect image of a gentleman. 

They could feel how delighted master was from the ringside.

It was how they always ended their fights, in a simple brawl. 

The reason they went to this great extent to completely exhaust themselves was nothing complicated. They were just after mindless bliss, the state of archaic pleasure that only a good fight with a strong opponent could offer.

The last impact when master's fist blocked the cook's kick had sent them tumbling down to the lawn, bone-tired and soaking in their own sweat. The long night ended in a draw, yet again.

Still, lying on their backs, they finally remembered that humans needed to breathe and started gulping for air, before right away insulting the other's performance. With their bodies immobile from being pushed to the limit, only their mouths were capable of moving. It was how they continued to fight until the new day dawned. A final sign that the fight was officially over.

Instead of getting up to go start his breakfast preparation like usual, the ship cook had rolled his body on top of master, straddling him with his strong thighs and looking at him with a predatory gaze. Master seemed unfazed by his sudden action. With no trace of hesitation, he clapped the man's neck with his hand, forcing him to bend down before kissing him, glutton, fiery and passionate, like a starving man.

This came out such a surprise to the three silent spectators.

_Ah, spring has come. _The blade in a white scabbard slightly slid itself to the right side where the black scabbard was placed. Its chimes could be interpreted as amusing in human languages. 

_Youths. _The black sword's sigh resonated in its black scabbard.

_What the...?! _The cursed sword dropped on the floor and cursed.

“They are chatty today…” Zoro touched the hilts of his three swords tied to his hip by a red sash, a bit puzzled by the faintly vibrating energy he had felt since the morning. Only a master of a sword with an established bond with it could understand the blade's speech. Usually, the sword only communicated with its owner. This time, it seemed like his swords didn’t try to speak to him, instead, they were talking among themselves.

"Oi gorilla marimo, are you going to come inside and eat or not?" The cook asked, looking slightly annoyed because the swordsman was basically blocking the galley's door from the others to come inside. The one who stood behind the swordsman, patiently waiting for him to move away from the door was their little doctor, the reindeer looked up and asked worriedly whether Zoro felt alright because he stopped so abruptly. 

"His battery might be running out." It was Sanji who replied. 

"Shut up, dartboard brow." the swordsman grumbled halfheartedly. He continued to look down at his crotch while the cook served food to their crewmates (he was trying to listen in on the swords' talk). 

The cook's eyebrow twitched in real annoyance.

"If you don't pay respect to the food and the cook who cooked it, you will have to wait for Luffy's leftover," he threatened but still slammed Zoro's full plate down on the table in front of the swordsman who, despite being distracted, still smacked Luffy's grabby hand with precision, without having to look at it. 

"Why don't they let me in their conversation?" he muttered with a frown before stuffing himself, unaware of his friends staring at him in confusion, sans the cook who intentionally ignored the moss by focusing on cleaning his kitchen cabinet and thinking of what to make for his ladies' afternoon dessert.

No one on the table had suspected a thing that something had changed, that there was a kiss happened onboard, emotions were dancing, the swords were having a meeting and nothing could go back to where it used to be.

Meanwhile, the discussion was ongoing between the three swords.

_The boy has never shown a sign of being interested in another human, or any life form before._ They whispered with each other. They saw his mind, they had been in there many times. Their master was a goal-oriented person, always thinking about getting stronger and nothing else. They assumed that his sexual desire would awaken at some point but much much later, possibly after his dream was attained. 

The stunt he pulled this morning had blown up their knowledge of him. It was so unexpected and they were quite curious about this new side of their master that the ship cook had awakened up.

The master's love interest was not a business of the swords but every factor that could compromise his life counted, love included.

Well, it was still too early to make any assumption. For now, they decided to carefully observe this developing relationship in silence.

Six months into the observation, the swords got a conclusion for their question. 

Secretive meet-ups at night for something more than a fight, stolen kisses in the hallway and gentle touches behind their crew's back, they were doing quite a decent job at being discreet about their newfound relationship. Little did they knew, they had been watched the whole time. 

Six months were not a long time compared to the lifespan of men but the swords knew its master, he wasn't a kind of man who did or felt things halfheartedly. 

For once, he behaved more like a teenager than a ruthless fighter; he was clueless, shy and clumsy. He disguised his insecurities with crude words and bruised the cook with his inexperienced affection. As predicted, the boy would go for the only language he knew to confess his adoration, brutal fights. They both did actually. They had played a "play cool" game with each other, neither of them wanted to be defeated. The cook, the usually better wordsmith, was equally terrible in dealing with his feeling. Well, they were never sure of what the ship cook felt for master but their man, he had fallen hard.

Master was in love with Blackleg, and as much as it was funny seeing him struggled with his first love, love was on a different level than a simple carnal desire.

This called for a proper meeting of the swords.

**Shusui** was the oldest of the three blades. For its status and its experience in the worlds of man, it got to speak first.

_I don't meddle with children._ It began. Its recent master was a child, though. It remembered when it first met him on the island where light couldn't reach. It didn't meddle with a child because it had pride and dignity. It used to be wielded by the greatest legend. It was supposed to stay by its original master's side, accompanying him in his eternal rest. Then, the dishonorable warlord came, disrespected its former master's corpse, destroyed their tome and forced it to work against its will with a mere shadow of once its glorious master. It felt emptied. It had despaired until a child showed up and reignited its spirit with his ambition. For the first time in many years of the aimless wandering, it was excited. It told him truthfully that it wouldn't lower its standard for him. He responded by promising it of legends as many as it would like, far greater than it used to enjoy. It chuckled by his boldness but told him too that it tolerated no empty promises.

He was a good master but he was a child.

_Normally, a sword has no place to comment on its master's business. Its duty is simple, to listen to the master's directions and deliver. __But. _ButShusui had seen the worlds. it had witnessed talents being wasted by devastation that called love. Humans, even the strongest ones were equally gullible. Many swords had perished because they passively let their fate be dictated by men. Great swords, on the other hand, took control of directions when masters attempted at something foolish.

_Love could be an obstacle to his goal. _It concluded.

**Sandai Kitetsu**, the cursed sword, didn't really think into the matter to feel bothered by master's puppy love like old Shusui, though it suspected much that there was something going on between master and the ship cook long before the first kiss on the deck six months ago. There were two swordsmen on board. Although the master of Soul Solid was laidback like the blade itself, he was still a skillful swordsman, they could give them a good swordfight, yet the one master fought was the ship cook. 

_My position is clear in this one._ It declared to the other swords. It was only and always be interested in the strongest. _Blood and battles, I desire. _If master slacked off, it would cut him. If love made him weak, it would kill him. It would kill the cook too if he stood on its way. 

The last to speak was **Wado Ichimonji**, the most loyal sword of the three. _I have been with master the longest._ It reminisced. It didn’t forget itself that as a blade, its role was to cut, to take lives; it retained no naivety. Still, years of watching over young apprentices in a dojo had forged it to be a gentle blade. It had the patience for younglings and was familiar with being wielded by kind-hearted masters. It was willing to bet on a young heart rather than a seasoned warrior whose hand no longer felt the weight of lives he had taken, whose spirit was drowned in the cruel tide of the world.

_To fulfill his promise with my late master, master chose one of the harshest paths of life, the one that fills with danger and loneliness. _ _Because this world is cruel, I don't think love is a bad thing._

The truth was that Wado had a caring nature which was unusually rare to be found in New World. It might be the only sword in the world that cared for the _man_ in the word "swordsman". Other swords only wanted their masters to focus on the path of the blade and nothing else, and shunned those who didn't. But Wado knew a secret: anyone could become a proper swordmaster through sword discipline but only when their heart was in the right hand that they became the greatest.

_Master has learned to make his body as strong as steel that created us, but he still has a human heart._

_It needs a human to take care of it. _

Shusui and Kitetsu listened to Wado's wisdom. Even the others outranked it in terms of status and strength, Wado still commanded their respect because of its noble nature. 

_Everything in the world has its order. Blades have class so do men. _Shusui told the other two wisely. _Master's life partner should reflect his worth and his status. _

Since they had agreed on master having a lover, it was time for an evaluation of master's prospective partner. They never paid attention to the cook any different than what they paid to master's other nakamas, except maybe his overexcited captain that they were a bit cautious when he was around. The boy always begged master to borrow them to play. Now, the cook had a special position in master's heart, it made him stand out from the rest of the crew.

_What shall we think of the ship cook? _ Wado Ichimoji hummed.

_ As long as he keeps him sharp, I care not of his love life. _

_Hmm._

_Let's get to know him._

Zoro's swords might have different personalities but there was one thing they happened to share with each other -

Zoro felt the swords rattling against their scabbards, their voices echoed in his mind like chiming bells, unintelligible, but from the _mischievous_ energy they radiated, they were up to no good. Zoro had a bad feeling about it. 

He knew it wasn't something serious as they still obeyed him when he practiced. He still had their trust, and in control. Zoro didn't like commanding the swords for their obedience outside the battlefields. He wasn't that kind of authoritative masters, even they were plotting something that definitely involved him right now under his nose. All he could do was to wait for them to reveal to him on their own terms. 

It was slightly unnerving though, it was hard to fall back to sleep when knowing his swords were conspiring, so he got up from his napping spot under Nami's tangerine tree and went straight to the galley to find something to drink.

The cook was also there, nimble fingers working on preparing ingredients for lunch.

"Only an expired cooking wine for you." He said without having a look at who had entered his kitchen. Zoro scoffed and went for the fridge, opened it and inspected what to snack with the shitty wine.

_Clank. _

Zoro turned back to the kitchen bar where the cook just slammed down a plate of salted edamame, together with a cold bottle of sake. A good one. "Don't rummage my fridge, now come sit and eat like a good boy."

"I'm not a dog," Zoro scolded but went to take a stool and popped the bean in his mouth, sniffing the sake before taking a big swig of it. The bottle was half-empty in one gulp. Sanji looked visibly distressed. 

"Apparently. No dog is an alcoholic. That's why they all are good boys."

Zoro was about to say something snarky back when the cook had his chef knives out and was handling them with such dexterity and grace. With both hands wielding the knives, Sanji finely cut different kinds of vegetables at once; those that needed to be sliced or diced got effectively turned into their respective shapes and forms before being tossed into the baskets to be washed.

Forgetting his frustration, Zoro unconsciously leaned on the counter and watched, silently mesmerized by the cook's craft. 

Sanji had a flair for showmanship when he presented his creation to the women but the cook never flexed his skills in the kitchen. He was good and he knew it for a fact. It was quite entertaining seeing the cook in his element, doing something he loved.

Sanji was always happy and at home in Sunny's kitchen.

Zoro would do anything in his ability to keep it this way. And he would-

-rather jump off the cliff than admitted to anyone that he had that sappy thought.

the swords' voices in the back of his head got louder, interrupting his train of thoughts by their muffling voices.

They sounded excited about something.

_Knives. _

After careful observation of the cook's knife skills, Shusui was impressed._ He could be a good swordsman._

If asked, any sword always preferred a swordmaster as a partner for its own master, at the very least, someone who understood the value of blades. 

Kitetsu was dubious. Shusui wasn't there when this one bossed master around, making him use them to heat up a rock for his cooking. It was still indignant for being used in that embarrassing way. The man’s knowledge of swordsmanship was nonexistent.

_Since we first fought him, he seemed to know too well how to handle swordsmen. _Wado spoke from experience of living in the dojo. _Too well to be from his experiences of fighting ones. Rather, h__e must be taught to be one at a certain point in his life._

The others' interest was piqued. 

Zoro blinked, surprised. He managed to catch some of the talks before the swords booted him out, and they were speaking of... the cook?

"They like your knife skills." the swordsman said out loud, processing the new information. The swords rarely had opinions on things and now they discussed the cook's knife skills. Zoro really needed to sit down and talk to them later. Were they bored or something?

Sanji paused from tenderizing chicken breasts to ask. "Who?"

"The swords." Zoro went back to sip his sake, oblivious that a casual mention of his swords talking might come out weird to other people who weren't swordsmen.

Sanji held out a tenderizer with both of his hands, staring at it intensely. "This tenderizer never talks to me before neither my knives and favorite frypans." 

The swordsman and the three swords looked instantly offended.

_Brat. _They said in unison and Zoro snickered. _You all are right._

Much to Sanji's surprise, marimo didn't lash out. The swordsman just took the bottle and got up. "Nah, don't bother your head, curly. This is a swordsman thing, you would never understand it."

He went back to the deck to start weight-lifting.

Zoro didn't see the pensive look on the cook's face.

But the swords noticed. 

It was a long voyage to Dressrosa, and Zoro had noticed that his swords were misbehaving badly. Kitetsu was always the problem child but now even the calm Wado and mature Shusui seemed to join the cursed blade in making Zoro's life difficult.

"Why you keep bumping me with the tips of your damn swords, you wanna fight?!" The cook yelled.

That's right. His swords kept bumping the cook whenever they passed each other in the hallway. When he took a nap on the lawn, they just had to tip the cook's legs when he appeared to walk past him to go service the girls. Zoro _knew_ he had kept them neatly by his side to not obstruct anyone's movement. Usopp and Chopper didn't get pranked to fall facedown in the lawn when they ran and played around him.

It was just the cook.

Within a week, Zoro fought the cook for 32 times, it was their newest record according to Robin who unsurprisingly kept tracks of something like that for fun. Of course, she didn't know about their nighttime meetings, thankfully. But Franky might, the shipwright had to take notes on all the damages they did for a repair and soon he would find out that the amount of damage didn't exactly line up and put things together. For now, their secret was safe and Franky was just super unhappy about them wrecking his beloved ship.

The synchronicity of their strength was necessary for securing victories. Zoro had his intelligence and instinct and they had the knowledge. Wado, Kitetsu, and Shusui had seen the world far longer than he was alive and these memories were embodied into the blades. Their connection allowed him to access this invaluable wisdom so he could wield them properly and unleash their true power.

That was why Zoro's body and mind always connected to the swords. If they felt like it, when his consciousness was drifting away, they could even take over his body and used him like a puppet. They never did that before even the temperamental Kitetsu. Zoro had established that he was the one who gave directions and they trusted his judgment. 

Now, Zoro was unsure, given that they seized a chance when he took a nap to move his hand and target the cook. Another session with the swords might be due if they didn't cease their pranks. They fucking owed him an explanation. 

Again, this was not something the cook could understand and Zoro saw no point to explain to him. It wasn't like Sanji would believe that the ones who started all the fights were the swords. The cook teased him in this matter before and Zoro wasn't going to play a laughingstock very soon. Instead, he grunted, deflected the cook's angry kick with Wado before attacking back.

As if some gods above overheard Zoro's frustration, the little awkward problem between him, the cook and the swords had stopped conveniently after they reached the island under Doflamingo's control. With their crew constantly running into problems, each getting bigger than the last, he had forgotten to have a word with his swords.

Then, the Whole Cake fiasco happened.

Luffy had gone to retrieve the bastard.

Before departing, the rubber idiot had the guts to call him out that he was worried. He was damn wrong. Zoro felt a lot of things, betrayed, angered, annoyed but _worried_ was not one of them.

They were at war with one of the four Emperors but their already small team now got split into two smaller groups, with one currently going on to start another conflict with another Emperor. It would take a miracle for all of them to get out of these troubles alive. 

The swords' whispering had died down during the cook's temporary disembarkment; they had stopped and gone quiet. Zoro appreciated their silence because it took every ounce of his mental strength to hold himself together right now. He had his duty to fulfill; he must act normal for the rest of the crew while waiting for their captain's return. 

"What the fuck was on your mind when you made this stupid decision?" He asked to no one in particular, he was alone in a run-down inn, acting as a wandering ronin, watching the moon and drinking himself into a stupor.

He did a magnificent job playing his assigned role if he said so himself. 

When he didn't get drunk, he trained himself to sleep, not letting his mind catch a break, or it would come up with something he didn't want to think about.

In all her beauty, the bright moon in Wano painfully reminded him of the golden dust that made for the cook's soft blond strands, and somehow the lies he kept telling himself had caught up with him. 

Zoro thought he was stupid. He didn't know all the story but the cook was stupid too, he was sure of. Not even Luffy was at that level of stupidity to go to Big Mom's territory alone. 

The chance he could tell the shitty cook again how shitty his strategy was, was so bleak, it frightened him.

Humans always realized too late.

There were a lot of things Zoro wished to share with Sanji, important things that should not be left unsaid, and one that he should have told him a long time ago if he wasn't such a coward. 

Zoro opened another bottle of sake, pulled out its sealed wooden cork with his teeth and drank straight away from the bottle.

The sake tasted bitter. 

Well, he was maybe a coward but the cook was still the bastard of this story. A self-sacrificial bastard. Did he want to die that much? 

_He likes to shoulder the burden alone, doesn't he?_

_Sounds like someone we know. _

_The one that painted a terrain with his blood._

Zoro heard it, loud and clear, they wanted him to. Sometimes, they did this, acting like annoying sarcastic old geezers, but it wasn't like he didn't appreciate their effort, Zoro was grateful for their company, especially when he was by himself, alone and-

A gentle voice spoke to him. _Don't worry, master_. It spoke in the same wise and calm manner like when it first talked to him years ago, when he was but a kid, in pain, during Kuina's funeral. _Like you, he, too, defies death. _

The Strawhat pirates reunited at the Kozuki's ruined castle which acted as the rebel's headquarters. It was a quiet and somber reunion for a merry crew like the Strawhats, with a few words being exchanged to let each other know how glad and relieved they were to have everyone back before going back to their works. Right now wasn't the right time for sentimentality. 

There would be time for a proper celebration later when the war was no longer looming in Wano. 

The night before the battle with Kaido's army, after dinner finished, the Strawhats and their allies started gearing up for the upcoming war, going back to strategies and backup plans over again to find out any flaw and fix it. Zoro's role was simple, he didn't need to hear all of that excessive stuff and excused himself to go meditate alone.

He was sitting on a rock in the bamboo forest he took over as his personal training ground and started oiling his swords when Sanji sought him out.

Zoro had smelled the familiar scent of burning tobacco of a certain cigarette brand long before the cook made himself known in front of him.

"Are they speaking to you right now, the swords?" His tone was slightly questioning but overall neutral. 

It was the longest dialogue they had exchanged with each other since the cook came back. 

"They are silent at this moment," Zoro answered easily.

The cook looked visibly disappointed.

"Cook, humans don't speak all the time so do swords."

"Hm."

"I thought you don't believe that they talk?"

"Perhaps, I do now. We are after all in the land of samurais." He shrugged and sat down beside him, puffing out clouds of smoke, looking at the night sky with the face he had since they reunited - of a man full of guilt and shame. 

The cook had hidden it well when talking with the crew and their allies but there was more than one moment that the facade crumbled and exposed. He had the face of a man who wanted to be punished. 

Zoro waited and be prepared. 

"Did Nami-san tell you what happened in Whole Cake Island?"

"Not everything." He replied.

"Zoro, I hit Luffy."

"What did the idiot do?" 

"No. It's your cue to ask me 'what did you do?'"

"Don't tell me what to do, curly," the swordsman huffed.

Sanji chuckled bitterly. It was clear in his one visible blue eye how he thought of himself- insignificant and disposable. 

After Sanji's confession and Zoro's lackluster response, they had spent another hour in silence, Zoro went back to methodically oil Kitetsu while Sanji observed. The cook was just reminded how much mosshead had spent time on his sword maintenance. It was like he was in a different world, one that existed only for him and his blades. It was, like Zoro said, the world which Sanji would not understand and never be part of it.

Despite knowing this, he still couldn't help but wonder.

"What is it like, having talking swords by your side?" 

Zoro inspected Kitetsu which he had cleaned and oiled before the cook arrived, satisfied with his handiwork, the swordsman put the blade back in its red scabbard and started working on Wado. "They do more than talk." He patiently corrected the cook, "They have agendas and pride. You have to win their respect or they would never follow your directions. Most of the time, they are quiet-"

Zoro concealed his smile when he sensed the white blade rattled against his hand. "Only on certain occasions that they speak."

"Your swords -what they like to talk?"

"Swordsmanship."

"Of course, swordsmanship," Sanji repeated, feeling stupid for even asking.

"They have not much interest in other things. Well, maybe except a certain shit cook. They talk about you."

The cook's eye widened at the revelation. 

"What did they say about me?" He asked, trying to not look too keen and failing adorably.

Zoro suppressed his grin. "They said: you are a pervert and an idiot."

"Hey!"

_And a marriage material for a certain child. _

Zoro choked on his saliva.

"What?!" He sputtered, glaring at his three swords accusingly. Sanji looked back and forth between them, sensing that something was going between the swordsman and his blades. 

_He asked for our opinion. Please relay the message honestly. _

"Like hell, I'd do," Zoro told them heatedly, trying the hardest not to blush. When he looked back to the cook, he found that the melancholic look had returned again, probably while he was quarreling with the swords.

"...the sword I used to wield when I was a child never talked to me." the cook revealed. "Neither I sucked at swordplay or it was a shitty sword, I don't know... It would be nice if it talked."

Mosshead would laugh at him, that wasn't the purpose of swords, was it? They were weapons and not to be used as someone's imaginary friends, but since he learned from marimo that swords could talk, it was the only thing he had been thinking about it. 

_That kid would have been less lonely._ He left that unspoken because he didn't want to look like a loser than he already was in Zoro's eye.

Sanji hated himself right now, he had been in this unstable state since his forced encounter with his past. In the Whole Cake Island, he felt like he got chewed and swallowed by a giant. It sucked his good qualities out of him, strength, bravery, and intelligence, all that Zeff and his friends had given to him and spit out a dried useless shell - that was the real Sanji. 

He remembered, his battered hands shakingly holding a sword. It felt cold and soulless like the man who forced him to wield it. He felt so alienated and so scared. 

Sanji knew this wasn't the time to be emotional. He couldn't be a dead weight and he better got his shits together before the battle.

Zoro quietly watched the cook bruising his own hands, gripping too hard on the hem of his yellow yukata, and decided.

**"Do you want to hold my sword?"**

Sanji looked stunned by the unexpected offer.

"Is that your... pick-up line? Tell me, you aren't trying to seduce me because-"

His laughter couldn't hide his nervousness. That was why they always fought. When being forced to confront feelings, the cook would quickly retreat back to his safe zone, behind his trademark smirk and snides. He provoked and most of the time, Zoro took the bait. 

This time, he was unshakable. 

"I want you to hold Wado."

Sanji kept staring at the white sword in Zoro's determined hand that the man was silently asking him to take, lost and speechless. He knew how much Zoro had treasured this one. It was his most precious possession. Wouldn't it inappropriate to have someone who wasn't even a swordsman like Sanji touch it?

After a few moments of hesitation, and because of Zoro's persistence, the cook finally reached out and took Wado from its rightful master, tentatively holding its grip with both of his hands. 

The sword felt light. 

Sanji was surprised.

It was lighter than it looked and somehow it made him feel lighter too as if it had gotten a weight off his chest. Feeling emboldened, Sanji pointed it to the sky and smiled at how the silver blade glowed in the moonlight.

_You are beautiful. _He thought.

Suddenly, something whispered back.

It was not like any language he used to hear. It was hard to describe. It was muffling and incomprehensible but it was unmistakable. 

"It's speaking! I don't understand it but Wado has just spoken to me," Sanji said, couldn't control his excitement.

"You have to train your mind to hear them and train ever harder to understand their speech," Zoro explained.

"But I didn't train my mind," the cook pointed out. 

"No," the swordsman agreed.

"Then, how could I hear Wado. Am I gifted?"

Zoro snorted, "Obviously not, curly. You hear Wado through my bond with it."

"What?"

Zoro looked at the man in a yellow stripped yukata and a disguised hairstyle that made his hair looked longer than it originally was. He looked at the cook whom he thought would never return to him anymore.

He looked at the person he had desperately wanted to hold in his arms for the past weeks that felt like an eternity and put his hand on top of Sanji's grip on Wado. The warmth from Zoro's touch had spread all over Sanji's body.

Wado's soft whispering got amplified. "You can listen to it because you are important to me."

Sanji understood it now, every word it said. _A great swordsman is made, not born. _It taught him._ The same applies to men of other crafts. No one's born worthless. _

Sanji had just received comfort from a sword and he got it because Zoro let him in their world, through his heart.

"Zoro, I..."

Zoro put his finger on the cook's lips, preventing Sanji from apologizing for leaving the crew. For all the pain he had inflicted on Zoro by trying to sacrifice his life and their relationship at the first opportunity, he knew both of them were equally at fault for this failed communication.

He was grateful that they still got another chance to remedy the mistake. 

Zoro unsheathed Shusui and pointed the black blade to the sky.

"Shusui has remembered Ryuma for hundred years. His memories had become part of its existence and its wisdom." Sanji watched as the swordsman pulled out Kitetsu, letting him see the contrast of color between Shusui's black body and Kitetsu's ominous white. "One day, I will create black swords of my own and become one of the greatest. They will remember me -

"- **They will remember you too. **They will recall back to times they have clashed with the heels of Blackleg's shoes. Every particle of iron that forged these three knows your attacks, and how they burn. Even when I leave the world, they will remember how much I love you."

Sanji felt Wado vibrating in his hand, singing in tune with its master, agreeing with him. 

"Don't say something like that when you are heading off to war tomorrow, idiot marimo," Sanji reprimanded him but gently, he tilted Wado until the tip of its blade touched Shusui. "I thought of you, all the time. I thought I've ruined everything and it was too late to go back. I cannot thank Luffy and everyone enough for bringing me back home-" Sanji put his head on Zoro's shoulder, inhaled and chuckled, "You haven't taken a bath. And somehow I know I can love this smelly swordsman for the rest of my life and some more."

"Is that a marriage proposal?"

"Maybe. Maybe I don't want to risk losing your love ever again. I'm securing it."

"You haven't lost anything but I'm collecting my dowry anyway." Zoro put Shusui and Kitetsu back to their scabbards, stood up and held out his hand for Sanji to take." Stay with me tonight." 

Tonight, tomorrow. Forever.

The lifespan of mortals was short. Their eternity could never last longer than a hundred year but it was alright for the memories of their love had already been preserved in the language of swords.

Extra1:

Lying on a futon and in Zoro's arm, Sanji asked.

"Can I touch Kitetsu?"

"Nah. It has quite a temper."

Eye still closed, Zoro breathed into the cook's hair. It indeed got longer, about around his shoulder now. When the war was over, he would go borrow the leaf from Kinemon, or maybe he would ask the cook to grow his hair.

"So, it's like a housecat that loves to be taken care of but not cuddled?"

"Don't describe it like that."

"I'll call Kitetsu "Kitty" for short."

"I'll not be held responsible for you getting murdered by my sword."

Extra2:

"Wado said I could be a good swordsman."

"Wado likes to drone on about ridiculous things."

"Maybe it sees my potentials, I could be a better swordsman than you." The cook goaded.

"In your dream. You are my shitty cook, don't try to be something you are not."

Sanji wriggled in Zoro's embrace. Sensing that another set of questions was coming, he planted a kiss on his lips, gently urging him back to sleep.

Extra3: 

Sanji thought he was hallucinating. 

It was very realistic.

The moment he opened his eyes and was struggling in the state between waking up and going back to sleep, he saw people standing in the room, staring at him and marimo who slept peacefully beside him.

Sanji had a hunch of who they were.

Then, he remembered that both marimo and he were butt-naked. 

They smirked at him.

"Your blades are three ugly dudes who peeped," Sanji told Zoro seriously after waking him up with a kick.

"Curly, we are going to war today. Don't make me kill you when we are still outnumbered by the enemy's army."


End file.
